Connection is a form of insanity

Connection is not communication. Connection is not one hundred people writing some variation of “happy birthday” on a Facebook page or a blog post. It isn’t Paris on Christmas Day or the ring on the left hand or the shared bed or a tattoo. Connection is not found in a box of folded letters or between the thighs. It isn’t blood. Connection isn’t elements linked by time or pattern or result, though it is easy to be confused.

Connection is not being afraid to be the first to say, “I love you”. Connection is telling someone you love you aren’t happy and things might not be ok. Connection is floating on salty swells under the dome of a dark heaven knowing that there are dangerous creatures below you and still turning all of your focused attention to the marvelous outlines of the lunar seas. Connection is a state of openness; a willingness to be seen and heard. Connection is the act of listening. Connection is having patience with every unresolved thing in your heart and the will to live the questions now. Connection is a form of insanity.

If faith is an absence of fear, connection is an absence of shame.

The things we could tell each other about shame. If I shared my shame with you and you shared your shame with me, would we wound each other? Would we automatically fall in love? Would I be dramatic and would you get quiet or would we just pretend that we weren’t vulnerable, the conversation a fever-dream hallucination had at opposite sides of a couch on a random Wednesday evening.

Connection is the one thing that I want in life, above all other things, in a word.